Shattered Glass
by caffeinenut
Summary: Sequel to Snap and Loss of Innocence.


Shattered Glass

Warrick Brown rifled through the manila folder on the layout table, looking for any family contact information on the victim from his latest case, Alex Hanson. As he searched, he tried to block out the ugly truth about this victim; that he had, in fact, been a convicted sex offender. His victims: children all under the age of twelve, boys and girls. The thought of it was enough to make Warrick sick. Try as he might to push those thoughts from his mind and to focus on the case, he couldn't. He just kept seeing the faces of the little boys and girls Hanson had hurt, and suddenly he was glad the man was dead. Realizing, if he was thinking like that and not about finding a murderer, he needed a break. Shoving all the papers back into the file folder, he tucked it under his arm and made his way down the dark corridors of the lab, looking for someone to take his break with, someone to keep his mind off of his case.

Unfortunately, the first person he came across was Conrad Ecklie, and that sight almost made Warrick do an about face and march back to the layout room. But the look on Ecklie's face stopped him. It worried him. Ecklie was smiling most smugly, even for him. Something was up, Warrick knew immediately, and that something was not good.

"Here real late past your shift, aren't you, Ecklie?" Warrick questioned, stepping into the Assistant Lab Director's way.

"I'm waiting to interview Sidle with the shooting board," Ecklie responded. "Although I don't know why we're bothering. She's already broken protocol by talking to Sanders. There's really only one outcome from all of this." If possible, Ecklie smiled even more smugly that before and walked away from Warrick. And if Warrick looked hard enough, he could almost see a happy bounce in Ecklie's stride.

Not good at all.

Now hurrying down the hall, in the opposite direction from the one Ecklie was heading, thank goodness, Warrick began looking in all of the labs, hoping to catch sight of Nick and Catherine. He found Nick in trace with Hodges, awaiting any results from the samples of possible evidence taken from the scene. Warrick entered the lab very quickly, grabbed Nick by the arm, and started to drag him out before Hodges could tell him anything.

"Hey, Warrick, man, wait…" Nick tried to say, but Warrick wasn't listening. He pulled Nick after him, searching almost desperately for Catherine. "Rick!" Nick shouted at his friend, trying to get him to stop and turn around, to explain himself. It didn't work, however, and there was nothing Nick could do but allow himself to be dragged all around CSI.

Warrick finally came to a stop, Nick plowing into him, when he found Catherine sitting in the dark staring at a computer screen. The glow illuminated her face, and for a moment, all Warrick knew was that she really was beautiful. He stared and stared, not sure how much time passed before he was abruptly brought out of his thoughts by Nick shoving him into the room.

"What's goin' on, Warrick?" Nick demanded, anger beginning to creep into his voice. First, he was yanked away from Hodges before he could get the results from trace, and then dragged around the halls, then forcefully bumps into Warrick, and then nothing. No explanation, nothing. Nick's emotions were already on edge between what had happened to Greg and Sara, and now being faced with a case where the victim had actually been a child molester. He didn't need Warrick acting all strange and funny on him, now, too.

Warrick didn't answer right away, but walked behind Nick and closed the door so they wouldn't be overheard. Enough rumors were flying and he didn't feel the need to add to them. He turned around and faced Nick and Catherine, who had looked away from the computer once Nick had spoken, the light still illuminating her face and briefly distracting Warrick again. Taking a deep breath, Warrick began to tell them what Ecklie had told him.

"I think Ecklie's going to fire Sara," he said, not even bothering to beat around the bush. This was just too important for dissembling. "He's wanted to for a while now, and he just hinted as much to me in the hall just now." He scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned loudly. "Auuugh, this whole situation just sucks."

"Why would Ecklie fire Sara? Because she shot a murderer and saved Greg's life?" Nick asked.

"No, something about breaking protocol," Warrick replied. "I'm not sure what protocol, but he seemed very happy about the prospect. Even more smug and superior than usual."

"Oh no!" Nick cried, it all falling into place for him. "Oh no no no no no!"

"What is it, Nicky?" Catherine asked, standing up and coming over to place a hand on his shoulder. "You know what Ecklie's referring to, don't you?"

"I might," Nick squeaked out, horror becoming evident in his expression. "It's not good, if I'm right. God, how could we be so stupid!"

"Who, Nick?" Warrick pressed.

"Me and Grissom," Nick told them, shaking his head in disbelief. "I guess we weren't thinking clearly. Sara's mental state our top priority and everything…oh, how could we do that!"

"Nick, stop berating yourself and tell us what happened!" Catherine demanded, frustrated at her younger friend. She took him by both shoulders and forced him to look at her, trying to make eye contact. His eyes were wet with tears, his face horror-stricken. "What did you and Grissom do, Nicky?"

"We let her go and talk to Greg," Nick whispered.

"So?" Warrick asked.

"During an open investigation," Nick finished.

It took a moment for what Nick had said to sink in to Catherine and Warrick, and when it finally did, they just stared at Nick, stunned. All three knew what that meant. The whole investigation into Sara having shot someone could be considered compromised now. Yes, she had shot and killed a murderer; that was not in debate. However, had it been justified or not was the actual question to answer, and by allowing her and Greg to speak to each other before the investigation was complete, it could be seen as an attempt to collaborate stories to hide evidence. Which meant that Sara, and quite possibly Greg as well, would lose their careers as CSIs.

As Grissom drove down Tropicana Boulevard towards the Crime Lab, he kept glancing over at Sara, trying to read her mood. She hadn't really said anything to him since he'd shown up in Greg's hospital room. By the time he had arrived, she had seemed to have calmed down and didn't want to talk about why she had been so upset before. Grissom could read the worry in both Greg's face and that of Dr. McClellan. Something had certainly happened, that much was clear. But Sara seemed to brush it all off as if it had been nothing. She had woken up from a nap very upset, according to the doctor, and it had scared Greg. After what she had just gone through, and what she would be going through in the future, Grissom knew there were many reasons why she would have been upset. He couldn't narrow it down, and asking her about it had only caused her to clam up and say she was fine, her usual standard answer when she didn't want to talk or didn't want to admit she had a problem.

When he realized he wasn't going to get anything out of her with both Greg and Dr. McClellan there, Grissom informed Sara that Ecklie had a few more questions for her and wanted them answered as soon as possible. "He's asked that I bring you back to the lab so that he, Sofia, a couple of guys from days, and the shooting board commission can finally finish up this…" He wasn't sure what word to use that wouldn't upset her or make her feel like a suspect. Like he didn't trust or believe her.

"Investigation?" Sara supplied, frowning. When he didn't respond, just looked at her with soft, blue eyes, she knew that that was what he had wanted to avoid calling this fiasco. But Sara, never one to shy away from the truth, well, most truths, even in uncomfortable situations, nodded her head in agreement. "I guess we should get this over with as soon as possible, huh?" She stood up from the edge of Greg's hospital bed, turned around, and leaned down to kiss him goodbye on the cheek. "I'll be back soon, if you're not let out by then already."

"Okay. Tell them like it is, Sara. Tell them everything," Greg stressed, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "I plan on singing your praises. 'Oh, detective guys, she saved my life! She was wonderful! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her! I owe her everything! She's my hero!' What do you think?"

"You're such a drama queen," Sara replied teasingly, shaking her head in amusement, but finally smiling that bright Sara smile. Grissom and Greg had desperately missed that smile, and both were exceedingly happy inside to finally see her display it once again.

Sara's brightness seemed to fade away as they left Greg alone and made their way through the hospital to the car. Grissom wanted to put his arm around her and hold her close as they walked, but Sara seemed stiff and wanted to keep her distance, even from him. He had curbed the impulse and kept his eyes forward, until they were on the elevator, heading down to the ground floor. He glanced over at her quickly, and then returned his gaze to the door, willing it to open and end this awkward moment. He wanted to say something, anything, but didn't know what, didn't know where to start. She was still hurting, he knew that, knew she'd hurt for a long time afterwards. And he didn't know how to comfort her. And didn't know how to tell her that he was scared, too, and needed her to comfort him.

Then suddenly, almost as if she had sensed his thoughts, Sara reached out and took his left hand in her right, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing gently. She didn't let go as the doors opened, depositing them on the ground floor, or as they walked down the corridors to the parking garage, or as they made their way through the aisles to Grissom's SUV. She let go briefly so they could get in, but then took his hand again once they were inside, and Grissom found himself driving back to the lab one-handed, not something he was used to doing. But he wasn't about to complain or ask for his hand back.

Grissom pulled off Tropicana and into the parking lot of the Crime Lab, found an empty space near the back entrance to the lab, and parked his SUV. But he did not get out. Instead, he shifted in his seat to face Sara and studied her. She was still stiff, sitting up in his passenger seat, instead of slouching back as she usually did. Her feet were firmly planted on the floor, her right arm resting on her thigh, her gaze fixed out the windshield. The only softness to her at the moment was that she still held his right hand in her left. Something was really bothering her, that much Grissom could tell, but he wasn't a psychic, and until she started to talk, he knew there wasn't much he could do.

"Before we go in, do you want to tell me why you're so upset?" he prodded gently. He wasn't sure his gently prodding would work; he knew from experience that you really had to push hard at Sara to get her to talk about what was bothering her. But Grissom felt that he had to try something. Pushing hard right now, before letting her go in and see Ecklie, would potentially make things worse. She'd be very upset and angry, filled with raw emotion, and that was not how he wanted her to present herself to the shooting board investigators. However, he knew that if she didn't get some of what was bothering her out in the open, she'd most likely blow up at the investigators, and any chance she had of coming out of this okay would be over.

He watched her face change slightly, from stiff and resolute to soft and frowning. She scrunched up her forehead and pursed her lips, trying to decide what to say. Finally, she began with, "It's silly, really. So silly that it doesn't even need to be talked about."

"Something that has you this upset isn't silly, Sara. Can you talk to me about it?" Grissom continued, reaching out with his free hand and stroking her cheek.

"I think I had a nightmare, while taking a nap. I really don't remember it, just some feelings, I guess," she replied softly.

"Do you remember any of it?" Grissom asked.

"I think I was searching for something…someone…and I couldn't find them. I was getting upset that I couldn't find them because they were supposed to be with me," Sara told him in a clinical, detached manner, as if she were describing the weather, and not an upsetting dream.

Taking a deep breath, fearing the worst, Grissom asked, "Was it me?" 

Sara looked at him for the first time since he'd shown up at Greg's room to take her back to the lab and vehemently shook her head. "No. You were already there with me, searching with me. It was someone else…" Sara broke off and frowned again. "I don't know who it was I was searching for. Or, at least, I don't remember. I was getting more and more frantic trying to find this person…it just, uh, had me very unsettled when I woke up." She took his hand off her cheek, now holding both his hands in hers. "You know how I get sometimes right after I wake up from an unsettling dream."

He did know, unfortunately. Sometimes, after Sara had a nightmare, she'd jump out of bed and pace his condo, trying to get her emotions under control. Or she'd scream loudly and shake uncontrollably, until he wrapped his arms around her and soothed her back into the waking world. Occasionally she'd wake up abruptly and still think she was in her dream. Grissom learned early on to get out of the way and try to reach her from a safe distance when that happened. The first time it had happened, he'd tried to hold her and tell her it was okay, and she'd lashed out at him with her fists, thinking he was someone from her nightmare. She'd connected with his jaw and he'd fallen out of bed. But it had brought her back, and seeing what she'd done to him, Sara had jumped out of bed and started to run out of his condo, horrified that she'd punched him, tears streaming down her face. Grissom had caught up to her at the front door and wouldn't let her leave. Instead, he'd wrapped his arms around her and just held her, rocking back and forth gently, telling her softly that it had been an accident, that he knew she hadn't meant to hit him, that he wasn't going anywhere. That he loved her. Finally, she had calmed down enough to let him lead her back into bed and soothe her back to sleep. It had been one of the scariest times in his life, but Grissom knew that he'd jump in front of those fists again, without hesitation, if it would help her wake up from a nightmare.

"Sara," Grissom said, "If you want more time before talking to Ecklie…"

"No," Sara interrupted him firmly. "I want to get this over with as soon as possible, so that I can start to try to get over it and move on." She smiled bravely at him. "So, who's going to be in there?"

"Well, Ecklie, for one. Sofia said she'd be there too, to try to keep him in line. The two CSIs from days that Ecklie assigned to the case, Bronson and Dawson. I'm sure someone from IAB. Maybe Undersherrif McKean, since he also spoke to Greg. And usually it's two people from the shooting board," he told her gently, almost apologetically.

"And you're not allowed to be in there with me," she stated.

"No, I'm not. I want to be, but I can't. Jim will be in there, though, as your advocate. He promised me he'd make sure you were okay and that you were protected."

Sara sighed, fighting back tears. She loved Jim; he was the closet she had ever had to a real father figure, and she knew he'd look out for her, but what she really wanted was for Grissom to be in that room with her, holding her hand. "Will you, ah, be outside, waiting for me?" she asked nervously.

"Whatever you want, honey."

"I want you in there with me," she stated sadly.

"I know. But I'm not allowed. I did make it abundantly clear that if you get upset, they are to stop immediately and come and get me," Grissom said forcefully, looking into Sara's wet, brown eyes. "They are not to push you, pressure you, or upset you in any way."

Sara nodded in understanding. "I trust Jim to look out for me. It's me I don't trust. What if I say things in there that…"

"Just speak honestly. The rest will just fall into place. And I'll be right outside that room when you're done," Grissom reassured her.

But Gil Grissom couldn't sit around waiting for her. He had to move, to do something. Anything. So he paced. Back and forth, up and down the dimly lit corridor, occasionally glancing at the closed door to the interrogation room where Sara was being interviewed, willing it to open and for her to emerge. An hour had passed and no one had entered or left that room. Trying to look on the good side, Grissom thought, at least there hasn't been any yelling. Yet.

Warrick, Nick, and Catherine, walking towards him like a united front, interrupted his monotonous pacing. Warrick and Nick stopped a few paces from him, but Catherine continued on until she was right in front of him. She reached out with her hand and brought it to his chest, as if her small hand could stop his forward momentum all on its own. He did stop, and looked at her, asking with his eyes why she was there.

"We came to see if Sara was still in there, and I guess she is, judging by your actions," Catherine informed him. "Also, I wanted to update you on the cases we're working."

Grissom nodded. "Find a name to go with that woman in the hotel room?" he asked, trying not to think about the memories of what happened after that.

Catherine shook her head. "No. As of right now, no hits in Missing Persons. She remains a Jane Doe, and the city will foot the bill for her burial. Warrick and Nick have picked up an interesting case, however."

"Care to fill me in?" Grissom asked, finally glad to have his mind on something other than Sara and what could possibly be going on in the interrogation room. He motioned to the benches outside the room and the four CSIs sat down, Catherine and Grissom on one side, and Nick and Warrick across from them. Grissom placed himself facing the door of the interrogation room, so as to be the first person to see Sara's happy expression when she came out. Or to get to her as fast as he could if it turns out to be a terrible ordeal for her and she was barely holding it together.

"It was a hit and run, pretty self explanatory," Warrick began. "Victim dead at the scene, suspect fled. An eyewitness identified the make of the car, but not the license plate number. Then, things get a little tricky."

"Yeah," Nick chimed in. "Turns out that the victim was a child molester, recently paroled. Apparently, most of the neighborhood knew. Lots of kids in the area. Anyone could have killed him."

"Did you track down the car?" Grissom asked, briefly looking away from the door to question Nick and Warrick.

"Close to it. A black or Navy Ford Explorer or Expedition? There were a lot of them registered in Clark County," Nick answered.

"But then we narrowed our search to the neighborhood the victim lived in. Used a ten-mile radius. Pulled up nine black and three navy registered in that area. I figured Nick and I would get warrants and search those cars first," Warrick finished. "The eye-witness said the car had tinted windows, as well. That might narrow our search even more."

"I took photos of the tire tread marks on our victim. They're running through the database now. And Hodges has some pieces of glass Warrick pick up, maybe from a broken headlight," Nick added.

"Good start, you two. Take a look at those cars and see what turns up. Catherine, in the meantime, will check out the victim's house, see if there is anything incriminating there," Grissom said. He turned to Catherine then and continued. "If Sara gets out of there before the end of shift, I'm going to take her home. You can call me if you need me, but…"

"I think we can handle this, Gil," Catherine said softly, rubbing his arm. "You just take care of Sara. We need her back just as much as you."

When Catherine, Nick, and Warrick did not make any move to get up and complete their investigations Grissom looked at each of them in turn, realizing that they all had something else on their minds and weren't about to leave before it was laid to rest. Coming to him about the hit and run case had just been a courtesy and a ruse to get him to talk and to give them a reason to talk to him.

"What else?" he asked, hoping that what was coming wasn't what he thought it was. He really didn't want to violate Sara's trust and answer their burgeoning questions, but he also knew they wouldn't leave until he had told them something.

"There have been some rumors flying around here about Sara," Catherine began gently. "I wouldn't put much stock in it if it was just Hodges, but Jacquie and Archie are also starting to talk. I'm not sure how much I'd believe Archie, but Jacquie? You know she doesn't gossip. And she says she was outside Ecklie's office when she heard it…"

"Heard what?" Grissom asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know what, Gil," Catherine pressed. "And she also heard what sounded like someone punching someone else." She forced Grissom to look at her so that he could see the concern in her eyes. "What exactly happened, Gil? What exactly happened to Sara?"

Grissom was stuck. He had no idea what to say or do. The three people sitting with him were Sara's closest friends, with the exception of maybe Greg. They should know about this; he wanted them to know, if for no other reason than his own selfishness of not wanting to share this burden alone. Maybe, if he told them the whole story, they would be able to see ways of reaching Sara and helping her through this that he couldn't. Because, truth be told, Sara was going to need help in the coming months. He had no idea what it had been like for her to live through that ordeal as a child, but he had seen how it had ripped her up inside to recount the tale to him when he pressed her on it. He could only imagine what it would feel like to her to have those people in that interrogation room force her to tell them about it. Grissom was terrified that Sara was going to have a breakdown, and that he alone would not be enough to get her through. And if she didn't come through, how was he going to survive without her?

On the other hand, how could he violate Sara's trust in him by telling her secrets? If she had wanted them to know about this, than wouldn't she have told them? As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew anything about her past. Grissom suspected that Greg now knew at least some of the situation, if not all, since Daniel Wright had brought it up on that balcony. Now that Greg knew, maybe Sara wouldn't find it so hard to tell the others about her past life. Greg, though he could be immature and a big gossip at work, would certainly not tell anyone about this without Sara's permission. Of this, Grissom was sure. Greg loved and looked up to Sara too much to hurt her and destroy their friendship. But, would keeping their mouths shut on the matter hurt or help Sara? Grissom debated this over and over in his head, always coming to the same conclusion. This really was Sara's story to tell, not his or Greg's. The only one that the others should hear this from was Sara herself. Keeping it a secret may be still harmful to her, but unless Sara was ready to bring it up and discuss it with the others, she would never be able to get past it. Part of Sara's problem was that she was afraid to trust people. If she told them, then it would show that she trusted them. If he told them, it would only prove to her that people, even the ones who love you, could not be trusted. He could not have Sara mistrust him now, not when she needed him the most. He would just have to be strong and deal with this on his own, until she was ready to let the others in. It was her decision to make, not his.

"Brass hit Ecklie," he finally replied. "He said something very inappropriate and Brass just let loose. It was actually quite amusing, seeing Ecklie topple over like that."

"Gil…" Catherine tried to press.

"No, Catherine. Don't. I am not going to confirm nor deny anything that you hear. I don't like the idea of rumors running rampant any more than you do, but I cannot tell you. It is not my place to say anything that Sara has told me in private. That is for her to do, and her alone." He shook his head sadly and glanced back at the closed door. "She needs to know that she can trust you completely before she'll say anything. And with what's going on right now…"

"She doesn't feel like she can trust anyone," Nick finished for Grissom. "And if you tell us…"

"Then she won't trust me anymore, either, and then where would that leave her?" Grissom ended.

"She trusted Nick enough to tell him that her father was physically abusive," Warrick said.

Grissom frowned at Warrick's statement and looked over at Nick with piercing blue eyes. "And, of course, Nick told you two instead of keeping his mouth shut."

Grissom hadn't even tried to mask the disappointment and contempt in his voice and Nick, thoroughly chastised, looked down at the floor and bit his bottom lip. "We were discussing the rumors and I just said…"

"Something you shouldn't have said, I'm sure." Grissom sighed deeply and shook his head. "I guess it really doesn't matter now what you said. It's done. Yes, her father was physically abusive. Leave it at that for now." Seeing the looks of anguish on his co-workers' faces, especially Nick, he decided to let them off the hook for their morbid curiosity and lapse in judgment. "This discussion about respecting privacy may all be just a moot point anyway, with the conversation that's going on in that interrogation room. It'll probably all be out in a few hours, and you'll know everything, even if Sara isn't the one to tell you."

A heavy silence fell over the four criminalists as Grissom's statement sank in. They all realized that what Sara was going through in there would not be easy for her. Being forced to relive what had happened to her, both as a child and out on that balcony as she saved Greg's life, could possibly destroy her. She was tough, the all knew that, but just how tough was she really. Could she get through this and still come out the Sara they all loved?

Catherine wasn't sure what to think or feel at the moment. She understood what Grissom was saying about respecting privacy and keeping secrets, but she also knew that if you didn't talk about the bad stuff, then it would just fester until it became uncontrollable. She knew that she needed to put aside any lasting animosity she may still have towards Sara and get the younger woman to open up and talk. Only through talking could she deal with this and begin to heal. But first, she needed to get Sara to trust her. To do that, Catherine decided to stop playing games with Sara and to just come out and let Sara know that she knew about the relationship Sara was having with Grissom. And that she was happy about it. Maybe a little female bonding could go a long way.

Warrick sat back on the bench, taking deep breaths to keep him under control. What he really wanted to do was rip that door off its hinges, storm into that room, grab Sara away from everyone in there and shield her from all of this. She was the closest he'd ever come to having a sister, and his protective instincts were kicking into overdrive. He knew her past was being brought up in that meeting and he wanted to keep her safe from it all, defend her from the dark and terrible memories, even if he had no idea how dark and terrible those memories were.

Nick leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, his whole body shaking. He wasn't sure if it was from anger over what had happened to his best friend, or shock, but he knew it was nothing compared to what Sara had to be feeling right now. He vowed, at that moment, to do whatever he could to make sure she had as much happiness in her life as she could get. And he knew that he had to tell her about his own abuse as a child, if only to show her that she wasn't the only one, wasn't alone in childhood horrors. He may not understand what she went through, but having gone through something himself made him more knowledgeable than the others to what it felt like to be a child and helpless, completely overpowered by someone you were supposed to love and/or trust.

The door to the interrogation room opened then and out flew Sara, past them all as if they weren't even there, down the hall, and out of sight before Grissom, Catherine, Warrick, or Nick, could form any words of comfort. Grissom was about to chase her down when Brass stepped in front of him, effectively cutting off his progress. "Gil, I think she needs a minute to herself."

"What happened in there?" Grissom asked, looking off in the direction Sara had ran, hoping to see her coming back to him.

Brass swallowed loudly and shifted uncomfortably in place. Catherine, Warrick, and Nick moved closer, so the five of them formed a tight circle to keep out anyone else. "What I heard in there…I hope it was all, the full story…because I'm not sure I could take anymore…" He paused, regaining his composure, then continued. "You should be proud of her, though. Real tough, that kid. Answered all their questions, even the real uncomfortable ones. She described everything with such clarity…everything her five senses experienced. Never once cried. A few times I tried to stop the questioning, when I felt the questions weren't relevant, or would be to upsetting for her to answer, but Sara wouldn't let me. She just kept at it until it was over. After hearing all that, hearing what she went through in her life, I can't help but wonder how? How did someone who had such a horrible life starting out turn into such a thoughtful, compassionate, wonderful person?"

David Phillips, Assistant Medical Examiner, ambled slowly down the dim corridor of the morgue and into one of the many autopsy rooms. He had to finish up on one of his cases from swing shift, though he'd much rather be working with someone from graveyard. At least they treated him like an equal, and not an underling, or like someone who had no idea what they were doing. He'd been at this for more than ten years; he knew what kinds of evidence to look for and collect. He knew the drill, probably better than most of the CSIs in this lab. But to almost everyone, he was only the Assistant Medical Examiner, and that meant he wasn't top dog.

He was surprised when he entered the room to find it wasn't empty. Well, he had expected the dead woman on the table to be there, but not the live brunette in the swivel chair behind a desk, her back to him. It was Sara. At first, David was confused. It wasn't unusual to see her down here, even if she wasn't working on a case. She would often come down to visit him for a few moments during a short break just to catch up. Sara was one of the few who treated him as an equal, and as such, he knew he had been the first and only (up until recently) to know that she and Grissom were together. When he had asked her why she hadn't said anything to her shift, Sara had told him that she didn't want to deal with their reactions. Sara had said that they were all going to offer advice, or ask for the gory details, or be put out that they hadn't been told earlier. She had told him that she wasn't afraid that he'd react like that. All he would do is listen, and that was all she needed. And ever since Sara had told him about Grissom, she'd come down and visited him more often. They had always been friends, but now, he felt, they were much closer.

So, no, he wasn't surprised to see her in the autopsy room per say, but he was surprised that she was still in the lab at all. It had been all over the lab that Sara had run out on a meeting with Ecklie and it was believed that she'd run away from the lab. Everyone had been looking for her, but no one had been able to find her. He watched her for a moment, rotating slightly from side to side in the swivel chair, and watched as she brought a hand up to her face. When he heard the sniffles, he knew he had to say something.

"Sara?" he asked softly.

Sara whirled around, startled, giving David an unobstructed view of her face. Her eyes were red and her face was streaked with tears. When their eyes met, Sara immediately looked down to try to hide what he'd already seen. "Hi, David," she mumbled. "I guess I'll go so you can work…"

"You don't have to go," David rushed out. She was very upset about something, since he knew that Sara Sidle only cried when there was nothing she could do, and he was afraid of what would happen to her if she ran out of here. At least here, with him, she was safe, and he could keep an eye on her.

"I don't really feel like talking," Sara told him quietly.

"We don't have to talk about it. And I won't tell anyone you're hiding out here," he assured her. "Not unless you want me to, that is."

Sara shook her head. "I'm not ready to go back out there yet. Too many questions."

"Well, there aren't any in here." With that, David went about getting to work, checking over the body, documenting the many bruises on the woman's face and body by measuring them and describing depth and colorization. They seemed to cover almost every inch of the poor woman's body, and to cover almost every color in the rainbow. Every so often he'd glance over at Sara, who was still sitting in the chair. Her gaze was on the ground, her chin resting in her hands, her elbows on her knees. To David she looked so lost, but he knew there was nothing he could say to her right now. He couldn't speak first, or he'd scare her away. She had to make the first move. After a rather long stare at his friend, David returned to the body, preparing to begin the Y-incision, when he was started by Sara's voice.

"Whom are you working on?"

"Her name's Kathy Montgomery," he replied, not missing a beat. "I'm not sure COD yet, but it appears as if she were used as a punching bag by someone." Then he winced inwardly, aware of what he'd just said. Though he chose not to comment on them, he had heard all the rumors flying around the lab about Sara and her past and her family, and talking about a woman being beaten to death would not help her open up to him. Or so he thought.

She must have seen the horrified look on his face when he realized what he'd said because the next thing Sara said to him was, "It's okay, David. I'm sure it's hard to avoid all the rumors flying around here. I appreciate that you haven't brought them up to me."

"I don't hold much truth to rumors, Sara, you know that. I figured that if you wanted to talk to me about it, you would," David told her honestly. "It's none of my business unless you ask me to be involved."

Sara looked up at him and smiled, not a full 100watt smile, but a smile nonetheless. "That's sweet, David, thank you." She took a deep breath and continued by asking, "What are some of the rumors about me?"

David frowned, not sure if talking to her about this yet was a good idea, but not being able to consult with anyone, he decided to just be a friend to her and tell her what she wanted to know. He'd deal with her fallout later, if necessary. "Many things, really, ranging from child abuse to mental illness to a past criminal record…"

Sara snorted. "Past criminal record? I never so much as got a parking ticket or anything, until my almost DUI a few years ago."

"Yeah," David agreed, "I kinda thought that one was a little far-fetched, too."

"Mental illness? What kind? Schizophrenia? Bipolar? MPD? Sure, I suffered a little bout of depression a while back, but I've worked through that," Sara continued, standing up and coming over to him to watch as he dissected the woman's body.

"I don't think you have a mental illness," David said definitively.

"Thanks, David. Now, child abuse…that one's true."

David's head shot up at her admission and he stopped what he was doing to stare at her. Child abuse? Sara had been a victim of child abuse? Since when? This was something new, something she hadn't talked about with him before. But as he took a moment to think about it, it made sense to him. She had always had strong reactions to abuse cases; some of them had even left her saddened, even tearful. It wasn't just that she felt sorry for the victims, but that she actually felt what the victims felt. And now he knew how and why.

"And did you hear the darkest one of all?" Sara asked him, leaning over the dead body to whisper conspiratorially with him. "The one where my mother actually killed my father? Apparently, I started that one myself."

"How so?" David asked, trying to keep his surprise and confusion from taking over his facial expressions. He didn't want Sara to stop confiding in him, didn't want her to run away. Right now, she was safe with him, even if he was the only one who knew where she was. If she became frightened or uncomfortable with anything he did, she'd bolt out of here, he knew, and then where would she go?

"During the first interrogation by Ecklie, I shouted it out when he wouldn't back off. Apparently, someone was walking by Ecklie's office at the time. I heard this rumor as I was hiding in the halls, making my way down here for some peace and quiet, and non-judgmental time."

"I'm sorry that you're the center of everyone's gossip, right now, Sara," David told her comfortingly. "I know how private you are. This must be very upsetting for you."

He watched as the expression on Sara's face changed form sorrow to confusion. Her forehead scrunched up and she bit her lower lip, classical quizzical Sara, David thought. She must not have been expecting him to say what he had. What she said next confirmed his suspicions.

"You're not going to ask me if that one's true?"

David shook his head. "No. I'm not going to pry. You'll tell me if you want to when you're ready." He watched as once again, her face changed and she looked like she was about to cry, a full, blown-out waterworks display. David immediately dropped his scalpel and came around the autopsy table to gather Sara into his arms to offer whatever small comfort he could. He felt her wrap her arms around his waist and bury her head against his shoulder, the tears wetting his scrub shirt, her body shaking with her sobs. He just held on to her, rubbing small circles on her back until she calmed down enough that he felt it was okay to let her go. She sat down then, back against the table, and David joined her on the floor, shoulder to shoulder. They stayed like that in silence for a few minutes, and then Sara began to speak, the whole story coming out, every last detail. She told David even more than she'd ever told Grissom, knowing that of everyone in the lab, she could trust him the most, after what he'd just said to her.

"…and so I shot him. Now I'm up for review and the whole story about past has to come out," Sara finished up her story, wiping her eyes. Through her whole narrative, David had not said a word, had not made one single comment or asked one single question. He had just looked at her and listened, something she had needed more than she realized. And she had needed it from someone other than Grissom. She loved him dearly, and knew that he would just listen, but she also knew that if she wanted to finally put her past behind her once and for all, she'd have to tell other people who would just listen, had to trust that other people would just listen. Grissom could only do so much for her. What she needed was more than what one person alone could give. She needed friends, people she could trust. Grissom alone, though she loved him, could not be all and do all. David, and his acceptance, had been a good start.

David was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, mulling over what Sara had just revealed to him. He knew it was a gigantic step for her, to be this open about her life, and he didn't want to say the wrong thing and cause a setback. But he also knew he had to say something, or she'd think he didn't care, or that she wasn't worth the effort. However, he had no idea how to help her. "I feel…honored…that you felt you could share this with me, Sara. I just don't know what to say, how to help you…"

Sara smiled at him and suddenly hugged him hard. "You just said it. What you just said, it's perfect, David. You were honest. You didn't pity me. And you just listened. It's the best help I could ever get." David tightened his arms around Sara and returned the hug, very glad that Sara felt so safe with him. And very glad that he knew he well enough to know that being honest really was the best policy with her.

Their tender moment was abruptly interrupted when Doc Robbins barged into the autopsy room. "David, have you seen…" He stopped talking when he was Sara and David, sitting on the floor, jumping apart as he came in. "Never mind. I see she's here." He waited for both Sara and David to pick themselves up off the floor before he continued. "You know, Gil's been running around frantically, trying to find you," he accused Sara. "You may want to go put his mind to ease and keep him from having an MI."

Sara nodded sheepishly. "I know, I know. I was horrible to him, hiding like I did. I just had to…get out of my head for a while, you know? I guess I'd better go find him and apologize, let him know I didn't slit my wrists or jump off the building." She looked over at David. "Thanks. For everything. I'll see you soon." With that, Sara started to walk out of the autopsy room in search of Grissom, preparing a very large, very heartfelt apology, including groveling, in her head.

"Bottle of pills!" David called out after her.

"Huh?" Sara asked, turning around.

"I always figured you for a bottle of pills kind of girl. Not wrist-slitting or jumping."

"Why?" she asked, intrigued that David actually thought about how she might plan to kill herself. At least someone in this place had a pretty accurate bead on her some of the time.

"Wrists and jumping are too messy, and you hate messes," he said, stating the obvious.

Shaking her head and finally leaving the autopsy room, Sara called out behind her, "You have way too much time on your hands, David."

After Sara had left, Doc Robbins turned to David, awaiting an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he asked, "She okay?" The evidence of tears on her face did not go unnoticed by the chief medical examiner.

"No," David replied, "But she's getting there."

Doc Robbins nodded. "Good. I also came down here for another reason. Another dead body, this time in Summerlin. They need a medical examiner out there, looks like another hit and run. Catherine's on her way already."

"I'll get my stuff."

Sara found Grissom in his office, having a rather hysterical conversation over the phone with someone. She paused outside his office, staying in the shadows so that he wouldn't see her right away, and listened in on what he was saying, hoping it wasn't about her, but knowing that it was.

"I don't know, Jim! She's not like me! She's not going to run to the nearest roller coaster for a ride. When she's this upset I'm not sure what she'll do…Just find her, okay! I don't' know! Just look everywhere! Do your goddamn job!"

He was really upset, Sara realized. He was shouting at Brass over the phone. She could see he was shaking, making frantic gestures with his free hand. He was worried about her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been down there with David, but if he was this upset, it had to have been a long time. That was a long time away from him, without giving him a word of comfort or even just letting him know she was alive and would be back soon. He loved her; he didn't deserve how she had just treated him. The least she could have done was call him and let him know she was okay, but that she just needed some alone time to get herself together. It wouldn't have stopped him from worrying, but at least he would have had less to worry about. He would have known she was alive, and not lying in a ditch somewhere, or worse, her own bed with a bottle of pills. Looking at him, hearing him, she saw that he was in obvious pain. She hated herself for putting him through that. She had to end it.

"Hey," she said softly, coming into his office. At the sound of her voice, he stopped berating Brass over the phone and looked at her. When their eyes locked, Sara almost jumped back in shock. He was crying. Gil Grissom was crying. What had she done?

"She's here," he croaked out over the phone to the police detective, then hung up, his eyes never leaving hers, letting her see what she had done to him. "Sara?"

"I'm so sorry, Gil," she blurted out, tears of her own beginning to fall. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just had to…go. I had to…" Unable to finish, she came around his desk and grabbed a hold of him, continuing to murmur "I'm sorry" as she held on to him tightly, hoping it wasn't too little too late.

Grissom immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him even closer. His legs, unable to hold him up anymore, started to crumble, and he sat down heavily in his desk chair, pulling Sara down with him and onto his lap. She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck, her arms finding their way around his shoulders. He began to stroke her back gently, reverently, as if he was afraid to touch her, less she leave again. Slowly, his tears subsided, as did hers, and they were left cuddled together on his chair, each breathing in the other.

"Please don't ever do that to me again, Sara. You need some time alone, away from me, just tell me. Please don't run away. Please don't disappear," he pleaded quietly, burying his face in her neck.

"I'm sorry," Sara murmured into his neck. "I just had to get out of there." She pulled away from him and looked him directly in the eyes. "Are you mad at me?"

Grissom shook his head. "No. Upset, hurt, and worried, yes. Mad, no."

"I promise I won't do that to you again, Gil. I just had to get away from all the others before I completely broke down in front of them. I actually expected that you'd follow me," she admitted, running a hand through his gray curls.

"I was about to, but Jim stopped me. By the time he let me go, I had no idea where to look," Grissom told her, kissing her nose briefly. "Where did you go?"

"One of the autopsy rooms. It's dark and quiet down there," she explained. "No one to bother me. Just a dead body. And then David came in."

"Did he ask you a lot of questions about what's going on?" Grissom asked, getting ready to hurt the medical tech if he so much as asked Sara a single question.

Sara shook her head. "No. Not David. Anyone else would have, but David just let's me be me when I visit. If I want to talk, we talk. And if I want it to be an exercise in complete silence, he's okay with that, too." Sara placed her head back on his shoulder, rubbing her nose against his neck. "I told him what happened. Everything that happened."

Grissom understood her meaning immediately. Sara had told David Phillips about her past and about what had happened to her and Greg out on the balcony. "How do you feel now that you've told someone all on your own, without being forced into in?"

"Truthfully? Like a huge load has been lifted off my shoulders. I opened up about what happened to me and my parents to someone, and they didn't run away, or look at me like I was damaged goods. David isn't afraid of me and he's still my friend. I talked about my past and the world didn't end. I think it's okay for me to talk about it, now," Sara replied, almost happily.

"It might change how some people see you and feel about you," Grissom told her, "But not the people who truly care about you and love you."

Sara chuckled. "Greg said the same thing to me."

Grissom groaned. "Oh, please don't tell him we're having the same thoughts. It'll swell his head."

"Don't worry. Telling him that will just boost his ego and make him impossible to live with. Your secret's safe with me," Sara laughed. Then, she turned serious. "Did Jim tell you what went on in there?"

"Some," Grissom told her. "He couldn't really talk about it, it bothered him just to think about it. He gave me a copy of the recorded conversation, though, but I haven't listened to it. Do I need to?"

"No," Sara replied without hesitating. "I'll tell you about it. Just, not right now. I'm too tired." As if to drive home her point, she yawned against the side of his neck.

"C'mon. Shift's almost over, anyway. I'll take you home so you can get some sleep," Grissom said, accepting that Sara would tell him when she was ready. Sara stood up and reached down to Grissom, taking one of his hands in hers. He stood up as well, and before he led her out of his office, he leaned down and kissed her passionately, pulling her body against his. Conrad Ecklie chose that exact moment to come ask Grissom about his team's progress on the hit and run case in Henderson.

"What the hell is going on!" he demanded angrily. Grissom and Sara jumped apart, looking at the floor guiltily, like two teenagers caught making out by a parent on the front porch. "I repeat, what the hell is going on? What was I just seeing?"

"Well, Ecklie, I don't know what it looked like, but it sure felt like kissing to me," Sara replied flippantly.

"Are you two engaged in a relationship?" Ecklie asked, trying to keep himself calm.

"For the past sixteen months," Sara replied, smiling broadly at the assistant supervisor, stepping in front of Grissom as if to shield him from Ecklie's building wrath. "Check out personnel. We're even living together now."

"This is against policy, and can be construed as sexual harassment," Ecklie informed them. "It would then be entirely in my purview to either suspend you, put you on different shifts, and possibly even fire Grissom for the harassment."

"Well, technically," Sara said, "It's not against policy. Frowned upon, yes. But there is no actual written rule stating that a supervisor can't date a subordinate, as long as their work isn't affected. Apparently, ours hasn't been, if it's been sixteen months, and you never noticed anything until now."

"And as for sexual harassment," Grissom added, jumping in, "She asked me out first, so you can't claim that I forced her into it." With that, Grissom grabbed Sara's hand and pulled her out of his office and down the hall before Ecklie could come up with a reply.

"But you turned me down when I asked you out," Sara reminded Grissom.

"He doesn't need to know that," Grissom replied with a wink.

Catherine Willows surveyed the crime scene, hoping something, anything, would jump out at her and say, "Aha, I'll give you evidence!" But there was almost nothing. Just a dead body by the name of Charles Faithword, what looked like possible paint chips, and a witness claiming they say a dark colored Ford SUV speeding down an adjacent street. To Catherine, this was all starting to sound very familiar, very closely mirroring Nick's and Warrick's hit and run case from Henderson. She made a mental note to check to see if the victim here was also a convicted child molester out on parole as soon as she got back to the lab, while surreptitiously took some wide angle crowd shots. David had come and gone with the body after decreeing that TOD had been about an hour prior to his arrival and ten to fifteen minutes before the police had arrived. As with the other victim, this one looked to be in his mid-thirties and had clearly been run over by a car; there were tread marks on his body as well.

After taking what she felt was a satisfactory amount of crowd shots, Catherine photographed the entire scene, minus the body of course. She had taken those shots earlier, even before David had arrived. Now she was just trying to put together a picture of the entire neighborhood, how close the houses were to each other and the street, how dark the area was, what cars were parked around the area. Once she had completed all her photographs, Catherine made her way over to Detective Vartann, who was questioning the woman who claimed to have seen the SUV speeding down her street.

"Hi, my name is Catherine Willows, with the Las Vegas Crime Lab," she introduced herself to the woman. She appeared to be close to Catherine's own age, and had her arm around a boy about the same age as Lindsey. "I know you've been over this with Detective Vartann, but for my part in this investigation, I need to hear it from you, as well. Can you tell me your name and what you saw?"

"I'm Stacy Housler. I didn't seen the man get hit, Ms. Willows," the woman replied. "I live down on Deerfield, two streets down on the left. My house is about a quarter mile down Deerfield. I was watering my lawn before I set off to take my son to school when I hear a sound like a car engine gunning it. I looked up and saw a navy Ford Explorer speeding down the street. I wouldn't have thought anything of it but I saw on the news this morning about the man getting run over by a similar car, or maybe the same car, in Henderson last night. It was going too fast to get a license plate number. I ran inside and called my friend, Pat Alman, who lives on St. Clair, this street. Our sons are in the same class and we usually car pool. All I got was the busy signal, so I told Trevor to get in the car right away. We drove down to Pat's house. Mike wasn't waiting outside as usual. And we saw the poor man lying in the street…"

"Excuse me," Catherine interrupted. "What would getting a busy signal at your friend's house have to do with the speeding SUV?"

"I was afraid that maybe the car had hit Mike and Pat was calling for an ambulance."

"Okay. So what happened next?"

"Trevor and I ran inside Pat's house and found Mike on the couch, shaking, and Pat on the phone. She was calling 911. Mike had gone outside to wait for me and Trevor and had seen the dead body in the road," Stacy finished.

"Okay, Ms. Housler. Did you recognize the SUV? Was it owned by someone you know?" Catherine asked,

"No, it wasn't familiar to me. My neighbors have a Ford Explorer, but theirs is beige and only use it when they go away camping. Most of my friends, and the people in this neighborhood drive Lexuses and BMWs, not Fords."

"Do you know the victim at all?"

Stacy Housler shook her head. "No. I don't even recognize him, and I know most everyone in this neighborhood. I suspect he might be the new neighbor Rosie Garber has. She mentioned someone had moved into the old Jackowiak house next door to her about three weeks ago, a single man in his mid-thirties. But I've never seen him. Rosie might be able to tell you if it's him."

"I've seen him," the boy, Trevor, spoke up.

"You have? When?" his mother asked, looking at him in surprise, and something else. Catherine picked up on it, and to her it seemed almost as if Stacy Housler was pretending to act surprised, when in fact she had known all along that her son had had contact with the victim. But, her son wasn't supposed to know that she knew. Filing that information away, Catherine started to question the young teen.

"And you're Trevor?" she asked for confirmation.

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replied.

"And how old are you?"

"I'm thirteen, almost fourteen," Trevor replied.

"Did you see the same SUV as your mother?"

"No. I was inside, packing up by backpack for school. I didn't see any SUVs. But the man who was hit, he is Mrs. Garber's new neighbor. I met him twice. Once when Mike and I were walking home from school. The other at the park on Lexington where Mike and I go to play baseball. He was real nice."

"Did he say anything to you about himself?" Catherine asked. "Like where he worked and why he'd moved here?"

"Yeah," Trevor replied. "He said that he worked at the stadium where the Nevada 51's practice. He said he'd get us tickets sometime, if we wanted. He said he moved here because his son had died in a car accident and he needed to get away. Mike and I felt sorry for him, so we let him play ball with us."

"Okay, thanks, Trevor. Now, I need to speak with your friend Mike. Can you point him out to me?" Catherine asked.

"He's not out here. He's still in his house, that one," he said, pointing to a yellow house behind Catherine. "He's still to scared about what happened to come out."

"Thanks again. I'll probably have to come back and talk to you two later. In the meantime, here's my card," she said, handing Stacy a business card with the lab's telephone number on it. "If you remember anything else, please call this number and ask for me, Catherine Willows. The receptionist will direct your call to me."

"Do you think it's the same person who hit that man in Henderson last night?" Stacy asked.

"It's too soon to make any conclusions yet," Catherine informed her. "Thank you for your time." With that, she and Detective Vartann moved off to the yellow house to question the other boy and his mother.

"So," Catherine said, when they were out of earshot of Stacy and Trevor Housler, "Did what she tell you match with what she told me?"

"I really didn't get very far questioning her before you came over. But yeah, she was out watering the lawn when a navy Ford Explorer came speeding down the road. She called her friend and when she got a busy signal, she and her son raced over to her friend's house and saw the victim in the road."

"The boy didn't tell you anything?"

"Hadn't gotten that far yet. But she seemed too precise, like she was fabricating the story. And yet, there were no discrepancies between what she told me and what she told you," Vartann said, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

"I know the feeling," Catherine commiserated. "She seemed surprised that her son knew the victim, but didn't seem surprised at the same time."

"You think she had something to do with his death?"

It was Catherine's turn to shrug. "I don't know anything, yet. Did you notice how she kept mentioning the other hit and run in Henderson?"

"Yeah. Related, do you think?"

"Again, I don't know. It's possible it could have been the same person. The cars may be the same. I'll try to match tire treads. The other victim was a recently paroled child molester. Stacy has a son…"

"Mothers protect their young," Vartann stated.

"Some mothers, anyway," Catherine said quietly, her thoughts quickly brought to mind Sara. She pushed those thoughts away quickly, knowing that she couldn't focus on the case while her co-worker was on her mind. "If she did know that her son had had contact with the victim prior to his death, and he was a convicted child molester, which I don't know yet," she said, stressing the last part, "it's conceivable that she may have had something to do with his death. But then, what's the connection to the other hit and run?"

"Trying to pin this death on someone else?" Vartann suggested.

"Timeline's a little too short for that. The Henderson case just made the news this morning, the 5am edition. It's only 7:52 am now. Hardly enough time to plan and execute this hit and run and be able to make it look like the same perp from the Henderson hit and run," Catherine surmised.

"Hard, but not impossible," Vartann stated.

"It's also possible that it was the same killer, or killers," Catherine said, stopping in front of Stacy's friend's house. "Let's not bring up that we spoke to Stacy and Trevor to these two. And let's not mention the Henderson case. I want to see if Stacy's friend Pat mentions it."

"Why?" Vartann asked.

"Because one may be a coincidence. But two women mentioning a hit and run case in Henderson that just became news? We may be looking at a conspiracy here. A conspiracy to murder child molesters, or suspected child molesters, anyway."

It didn't make sense. None of it did. Neither hit and run case. Catherine, Warrick, and Nick sat around the conference table staring at their evidence. It was a little after four in the afternoon, and they were pulling a double, though it felt like much more than that, with everything that had happened within the last few days. Nick had managed a few hours sleep on the couch in the breakroom, Warrick and crashed in a chair while running through the tire database, and Catherine had napped at home briefly after stopping to change clothes. Now, they were assembled in the conference room, and the evidence just didn't add up.

"Okay, let's separate hard facts from…less hard facts," Catherine suggested. "Nicky, you start the chart. Fact one, both victims were convicted child molesters recently paroled." She and Warrick watched as Nick wrote that on the dry erase board in front of them.

"Fact two," Warrick added, "They were hit by the same car. The tire marks matched."

"Good," Catherine said, after Nick wrote fact two. "Fact three, the car was navy blue, as evidenced by the paint chips on Charles Faithword."

"And that's all," Warrick said frustrated. "Because these facts completely contradict the witnesses. What navy Ford Explorer? The paint chips, tire treads, and headlight fragments from the first victim all belong to a 2005 Toyota Sequoia!"

"Maybe it's a conspiracy," Nick joked.

"That may not be wrong, Nicky," Catherine said, and then told the guys about her conversations with Stacy and Trevor Housler and Pat and Mike Alman. "Both women kept mentioning the hit and run in Henderson. Is it the same car, the same person, are the cases related, yada yada yada. Like they were trying to draw attention away from them. And both, well, it's hard to say exactly, but both didn't seem surprised that their sons had contact with the victim, but both tried to be surprised for my benefit, I think."

"Do you think the two cases are related?" Warrick asked.

"Absolutely," Catherine replied firmly. "Two child molesters run down within half a day of each other? Each hit by supposedly the same car, which turns out not to be the car, but the correct car seems to have hit them both? That's just a little too close for comfort. So, I asked Vartann and Vega to do a little digging for us. We should hear from them soon, with more information, I hope. In the meantime, I'm gonna call Grissom and check on him and Sara. They should have heard something from the shooting board by now."

As Catherine reached for her phone to call, a brown head stuck it's way around the door and asked, "Is this party open to anyone, or do you need a private invitation?"

"Greg!" Nick cried, practically running across the room and gathered the younger man into a bear hug. "What are you doing here? When'd they let you out? Why didn't you call for a ride?"

"Nick, ease up," Greg pleaded, choking. "You're too tight."

"Sorry," Nick apologized sheepishly, letting his friend go. "I'm just glad to see you."

"We all are," Warrick said, coming around and giving Greg a hug, though a less enthusiastic one than Nick. "I think he crushed you enough."

Catherine shut her phone and gave Greg a third hug. "I'm glad you're back. Are you back, or are you just visiting?"

"I'm back. Been cleared to work, as long as I take it easy and take a break now and then. No heavy field work for at least five days, and if I get dizzy, I'm to go back to the hospital immediately. That last instruction's from Sara, by the way. She says hi."

"She here?" Nick asked, looking out of the room.

"No. She dropped me off outside. She gave me a ride back from the hospital, then went home. Sara mentioned that Grissom's going to be coming in to work tonight. The way she said it, well, it sounded like she wasn't going to give him a choice about it," Greg informed them, almost laughing. "She came and got me by herself. I think he's driving her crazy right now."

"Is she doing okay?" Warrick asked, concerned.

"Yeah, better than I expected, actually. Finally confronting her past and getting it all out there, I think it's helped her, rather than hindered her," Greg explained. "You should have seen her when she was driving me here. She was smiling and laughing and just seemed…at peace, you know." Greg walked over to the conference table and plopped down in one of the chairs. "She knows you guys are probably dying to know exactly what happened to her…"

"Hey, it's okay," Catherine said. "She doesn't have to tell us now, or at all. Only if she wants to and feels comfortable with it. Though, I will say that I do want to know, if only to be able to help her."

"She's ready to talk to you guys. She asked me to invite you all over for breakfast at Grissom's tomorrow. She wants to do this on comfortable ground, you know, and the lab doesn't feel safe enough to her for this conversation," Greg told them.

"Do you know what happened to her?" Nick asked.

Greg nodded. "I was on that balcony with her and Daniel Wright, remember? I heard it all, from him and from her. Believe me, it's something that I wish I'd never heard, but am glad that I know, if that makes any sense." Thoughts of Sara and her past started to float through Greg's mind, and he knew that he had to change the subject and fast, if only to keep him from developing a dark cloud over his head. He didn't want to dwell on her past, for fear that it would consume him as it had her. He was glad that she felt she could share that with him, and that she felt ready to share with the others. To him, that represented a big step in Sara's recovery as well as her ability to trust others. But he also knew that, despite what had happened to them, worse things could be happening to others at this very moment, and it was his job to try to help those others as well. He looked over at the case files that Catherine, Warrick, and Nick had scattered across the table, and then at the dry erase board. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"Two cases that are probably related," Catherine said, sensing Greg's need to change subjects. "Two hit and runs. Both victims were child molesters. They were hit with the same car, and witnesses at the two scenes described the same car speeding away from or near the scene. However, the described car was not the car that hit the two men."

"A witness at the first scene said he saw a dark Ford hit the victim. Only, according to the evidence, it was a Toyota Sequoia, not a Ford," Nick continued.

"In the dark and the heat of the moment, it could be easy to mix up the two," Greg posited.

"Yeah, maybe, but from two witnesses at both scenes. Although, the witness from the second scene didn't actually see the victim hit, only a navy Ford Explorer speeding down her street, three blocks from the crime scene," Catherine added slowly. "No one saw the actual crime occur at the second scene."

"Child molesters, huh," Greg said, looking over the files. "Any kids involved?"

"Yes, at the second scene. Both women I spoke to seemed surprised that their thirteen-year-old sons had contact with the victim. But I stress the word seemed," Catherine stated firmly. "There's a definite difference in acting surprised and actually being surprised. As the mother of a teenager myself, I know both. I guarantee, both Stacy Housler and Pat Alman were not surprised that their sons knew the victim, but were acting surprised for out benefit."

"So, that begs the question, did they have anything to do with Charles Faithword's death?" Warrick asked.

"Did they know he was a child molester?" Nick asked.

Catherine shrugged. "They didn't say and I didn't ask. At the time, I didn't know that he was, so I couldn't rightfully ask that question anyway."

"Is there any way we could find that out?" Greg asked.

Catherine nodded. "In a round about way. I have Vartann and Vega checking out possible connections between the two victims, or people in the two neighborhoods. Hopefully, they'll have something soon." As soon as she had finished speaking, her cell phone rang. She whipped it out and checked the caller ID. "Speak of the devil," she said facetiously when she saw who was calling. "Detective Vartann," she greeted. "What do you have for me?"

"Quite a bit," the detective said. "At the first scene, according to Vega, one of the people he and Nick spoke to was a Gloria Pashden."

"Yeah, I remember reading that in his report. What's that got to do with anything?" Catherine said sharply.

"Well, it seems that Gloria Pashden is the mother of one Stacy Housler from our crime scene," Vartann said smugly.

"Okay," Catherine said, drawing the word out. "That could conceivably link the two crimes, but could also be a coincidence. Got anything else?"

"Maybe. It seems that Mrs. Pashden hosts some sort of group meeting once a week. Neighbors call it a gossip club. Only women allowed. And all of the women at these meetings have kids or grandkids. Stacy Housler and Pat Alman both attend regularly. As does Gloria Pashden's daughter in law, Lisa. Lisa and her husband Richard, and their two children, live two blocks away from where the first victim was killed," Vartann informed Catherine.

"How'd you come by this information?"

"Met an elderly guy," Vartann said. "Retired NYPD, only too happy to talk to a couple of force guys like me and Vega. Keeps tabs on the neighborhood's comings and goings. And happens to live next door to Gloria Pashden."

"Thanks, Vartann. Keep in touch."

After Catherine shared what Vartann had given her with the rest of her team she said, "This is all too circumstantial to get warrants yet, but it does give us a lead. I think we should take a break, I really want to just go home and give Lindsey a big hug right now, and then come back tonight ready to question the neighborhood about Gloria Pashden's gossip parties."

After dropping Greg off at the lab, Sara took the long route back to Grissom's townhouse, wanting just a little more time to herself to decompress. She was going stir-crazy in that place with only a smothering Gil Grissom for company. They had yet to hear from the shooting board, and Sara was on edge from lack of knowing. And Grissom constantly hovering around her, asking her if she was okay, if she needed anything, if she was hungry, thirsty, tired, bored, worried, and a whole slew of other things was driving her crazy. She had felt ready to scream, if not at him, then at the ceiling, anything, just to get it out. So, when Greg had called to ask for a ride, she had jumped at the chance, telling Grissom that she'd see him later, and was out the door before he had the time to ask to come along. If she had given him the chance to ask, she knew she'd have let him come with her, if for no other reason than to keep him from feeling hurt from rejection, even though what she really wanted and needed was some time away from him. He was only worried about her, Sara realized that, and dear God, she loved Grissom more than she ever thought possible, but she really needed some alone time before they had to have her committed.

She hadn't felt prepared to see the others yet, either, though she wanted to, and wanted to explain it all to them. But, the lab was not the place; too much of a chance of being overheard, and if she had a breakdown, as she suspected she would, she did not want to be in view of anyone other than her teammates. Plus, since she had ducked out to get Greg before Grissom could finagle his was along, he would not have been with her for her great revelation to their friends, and thus, she knew she wouldn't be able to say anything without him by her side. He was her rock, her support through all of this, and there was no way she'd get through that kind of conversation without him there.

But still, she needed some space at the moment. So, taking the long route home, Sara drove down the strip and glanced around at the bright neon signs. She couldn't believe she had ended up in a place like this, a place that traded on the concepts of gambling, ownership, sex, temptation, and secrets. And, even though New York was the "City that never sleeps", Sara realized that Las Vegas had more of a claim on that statement than The Big Apple. For someone who had grown up outside of San Francisco, a much more earthy and natural city, Vegas was fake, all chrome and neon. If anyone had told her ten years ago that she'd be in this place, she'd have laughed until she burst, telling them they were out of their minds. And still, it was where she had ended up.

Of course, it had all been for him.

Realizing that he was probably giving himself an ulcer worrying about her, Sara cut her trip short and slipped down a side street to take a more direct route back to Grissom's townhouse. As much as she needed some space away from an overbearing Grissom, she just couldn't be the cause of more worry. He already had enough to be concerned over. Would she still have a job in a few hours? Would she still stay here with him if she didn't? Would she ever be able to get over shooting and killing someone? Would she ever be able to trust the others with her secrets? Would she ever be able to trust him with her secrets? Would her nightmares keep getting worse and worse? See, Sara thought to herself, he already has too much to worry over about me. I'm not going to add 'Can she be alone for a few hours and be okay?' to the list.

But, she couldn't not tell him that his constant worrying was getting to her. It was actually making her more nervous about outcome of her investigation. She knew that he needed to get his mind off of recent events, and so that was why she had decided that he was going to go to work tonight, to give him something to occupy his mind. And while he was out, she planned on obsessively cleaning for the breakfast party in the morning, tiring herself out so that maybe she'd finally sleep without a nightmare. Since shooting Daniel Wright, she hadn't had any sleep that hadn't been plagued by nightmares. She had had only abbreviated sleep periods, she couldn't even call them nights (or days, really), since the incident on the balcony. Each time she'd finally fallen asleep, she remained so for less than an hour, before a nightmare had awoken her. Most had been terrible, distorted memories about what had taken place on the balcony. Some had been about her past and her father's death, the bloodied walls of her parents' bedroom, her mother holding the knife, blood dripping down the handle and running down her arm to her elbow, dripping onto the carpet. In another, Sara had been holding the knife herself, but her victim hadn't been her father; rather it had been Grissom. She'd only had that dream once, and it was enough to elicit such a blood-curdling scream, that Grissom had come running into the bedroom in fear. He had taken her into his arms, rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. She had finally calmed down, but refused to tell him about that particular nightmare. She just couldn't.

Sara suspected that parts of her nightmares were born out of fear of what could and would happen to her. Her career, her confidence, her life, was being decided by people who barely knew her, and hadn't gone through the horrible experience with her. The other part, she knew, was being fed by Grissom's constant worrying. She knew that she was feeding off of his emotions, and so he needed happy emotions she decided. Working could give him that, despite the actual nature of the work.

She pulled into an empty parking space in front of his townhouse, put the car in park, took a deep breath, then exited the car and entered his home. She hadn't completely walked through the front door before he assaulted her with worry.

"Are you okay, Sara? You've been gone a long time, and I was worried that something had happened?" he asked quickly, taking her coat off of her body and hanging it up on the coat rack.

"I'm fine, Gil. Nothing happened. Greg and I chatted a bit before I dropped him off at the lab. I guess he was going through withdrawal or something, wanted to go help the others on a case. I told him that you'd be going in to work tonight," Sara said, carefully avoiding looking at him. She made her way into the kitchen and took out a glass for her juice, fully expecting an explosion from her lover. She was not disappointed.

"What?" he asked, confused. "I'm not going in tonight. You need me here, in case you have another nightmare…"

"Gil," Sara said evenly, cutting him off. "Honey, I love you. I love that you've been so supportive. I don't know what I would have done without you, so don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need you here right now."

"Sara?" Grissom questioned, coming over to her, a look of utter distress in his blue eyes.

"I need to have a nightmare, and then make myself feel better after it. I need to be able to calm myself down, assure myself that it will be okay, that it's over and it's not real anymore. I love that you do that for me, that you're willing to do that for me, but I know that I have to be able to do that for myself, or I'll never get over this. I'll never be able to trust myself through this. And if I can't trust myself, how can I trust you or the others? If I can't tell myself that I'm okay, that what I did was okay, that it doesn't make me a terrible person, how can I believe it when someone else tells me that?" Sara tried to explain, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

Still not completely understanding and fearing the worst, Grissom asked softly, "Are you…is this…do you mean that you're leaving?"

"No, not at all. The past few days have shown me exactly how much you care about me, what you'd do to make me feel safe and secure. How much you truly love me, and how much you want to help me get better. Why would I leave such an obviously caring, and wonderful man? I just need a few hours to myself, to prove to myself that I'm really okay, that I can handle this." Sara closed the distance between them and took his head in her hands. "That I can help myself get better. I want to depend on you, but I don't want to be overly dependent upon you." She leaned in and kissed him softly, briefly. "If I get overwhelmed, or feel like it's worse, I'll call you. I promise I won't hide or shut you out. But I need to try this. Please tell me you understand."

Grissom nodded, leaning his forehead against hers. "I think I do. And I'll respect your wishes. And I really do love you."

"I know," Sara replied, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling in to his body.

She's finally sleeping, Gil Grissom thought to himself as he stroked Sara's hair, staring down at her with adoration. They were snuggled up together on the couch, him reclining on his back and using the arm of the couch to prop himself up, her tucked between his body and the back of the couch. Sara's head rested on his chest, her right arm slung around his waist. Grissom had both arms wrapped around her body, his left resting on her hip, his right stroking her hair. The volume of the television was so low that Grissom couldn't hear it, and was afraid to turn it up in case it would wake Sara. It had been close to three hours since she'd fallen asleep on the couch with him, the longest stretch of time she'd been asleep without a nightmare. He was not going to do anything to shorten her sleep. He heard her let out a soft sigh and cuddle in even closer, if that was possible. Grissom smiled at Sara fondly, his thoughts transporting him back to a few weeks after they'd first begun seeing each other, and to their first real fight.

Sara had turned out to be an extreme cuddler, always touching him, leaning on him, snuggling into his body, whether they were sitting or laying on the couch or the bed. They'd come back from work, usually to his townhouse, he'd turn the television on, grab some juice, and sit on the couch. Instead of taking a seat in the chair, Sara would be all over him. Not in a sexual kind of way, just in an 'I have to be physically touching you' kind of way. And it bugged him. Grissom liked his space and she was constantly invading it. But, instead of talking to her, he grinned and bore it until he couldn't take it anymore and exploded at her. The mistake was his and his alone, and could have easily been avoided, had he said something sooner.

"Goddamn it, Sara! Do you always have to be all over me!" he had yelled at her, standing up and dislodging her body from him.

"What do you mean all over you? I'm just sitting here with you," she had replied, confusion and hurt in her voice and written across her face.

"That's what I mean!" he had continued to yell, marching away from the couch and going into the kitchen. "You have to touch me all the time, be here all the time, be on top of me all the damn time! Back off!"

He had regretted what he'd said almost immediately. Well, not really what he'd said as much as how he'd said it. He came around the bar counter to try to get her attention again, but she was sitting on the couch looking away from him. He feared she was crying. He hated it when she cried; it made him feel so helpless.

"Sara," he had started softly, trying to get her attention.

"Don't, Grissom," she'd replied calmly. Way too calmly. She had refused to look at him then, but had gotten up and made her way to the front door. "I just wish you'd said something to me before. This might never have happened, then." Then she'd left, leaving a shocked Grissom in her wake.

He had pondered what her statement meant. Did she mean that they might have been able to avoid the fight? Or that she would never have agreed to be with him if he didn't like to cuddle with her all the time? Then it had hit him; she had walked out the front door. She was gone, and he had no idea if she was coming back. He sat down on the floor, his back to the bar counter, and just stared at the empty couch in shock. His worst nightmare had come to pass. Sara Sidle had walked out on him. And it was entirely his fault. He could see that much clearly. He had yelled, when he should have been calm. He could have explained to her that he needed some space, physical space not metaphorical space. He could have told her that he didn't understand her constant need to hold on to him. She had never struck him as a clingy person, so it had surprised him that she needed constant physical touch. Why was she, a person who could take care of herself better than anyone he knew, including himself, always all over him like a needy kid? There must be a reason, and instead of asking about it calmly, and rationally, like a normal boyfriend, he'd gone and yelled at her instead. And most likely driven her away, maybe for good.

Closing his eyes to force back the tears, Grissom had heaved himself up off the floor and made his way to the bathroom. He needed a shower, and some time to plan the perfect apology. He knew it would have to involve groveling. And chocolates, lots of chocolates. And maybe even a puppy.

When he'd finally cleaned up and was ready to go apologize to Sara, over an hour had passed. He hoped he wasn't too late. Driving over to her apartment, he practiced what he was going to say, and everything he said seemed to fall short of how he felt. He was clueless in these matters. And there was no one he could consult. The team hadn't known then, and he wasn't ready to tell them. Nor could he tell his mother and ask her advice. He hadn't wanted to get her hopes up that he'd finally found someone to spend his life with, only to pull that out from under her when Sara left him. And now he might never have the chance to tell his mother anything.

Grissom had pulled into the parking lot at Sara's apartment complex and parked in an empty visitor space. He had slowly made his way to her third floor apartment, still rehearsing his speech. It was lacking, he knew that. He just hoped Sara understood what he was trying to say to her. When she had opened the door to him, her face red and streaked with tears, Grissom opened his mouth to say sorry and "I love you" came out instead.

Looking back now, he realized that that statement, that misspoken phrase, had been his saving grace. Sara had stepped aside, inviting him in. She shut the door behind him, arms crossed, stance defensive. Just waiting on him.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, Sara. I…I shouldn't have, uh, yelled…yelled at you like that," he had stammered, facing her from two feet away, hands in his pockets, gaze on the floor. "I…I just…" He looked up at her then, pleading with her to understand. Her stare remained impassive, and he could tell she had been crying. Hard. Damnit. "I like my space. My physical space," he said quickly. "I guess I…I don't understand why…this constant need to touch all the time…" Grissom took a chance then and stepped closer to Sara, reaching out with his arms. When she didn't back up or hit him, he placed his hands on her upper arms and squeezed gently. "I didn't mean to yell…that came out all wrong. I'm just so, so bad at this stuff…I felt…crowded and I just…I need us to stay separate people and I can't feel that when you're always there…always touching me…"

"You could have said something before you exploded about it," Sara had whispered to him, a slight hitch in her voice.

"I know. I should have and I'm very sorry that I yelled at you. That was wrong of me." He pulled gently on her arms and she went willingly into his embrace.

"There's a reason why I am that way with you," Sara sniffed against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his back.

Grissom nodded. "I figured that. After you left and my head cleared, I realized that you're not a clingy person with anyone else, so there must be a reason why you're that way with me. I'm ready to hear that reason and talk about it calmly and rationally, if you're ready to talk about it with me."

"People are supposed to have places of safety," Sara began quietly. "Home, friends, work…I've never had that. You know what my home life was like as a child. First my parents, then moving around from foster home to foster home. I never felt safe. And friends, well, never really had any that I could trust and count on, until here that is. And my job in Frisco…I…it wasn't the same kind of haven as it is for me here." She paused then, and Grissom felt the wetness against his shoulder. She was crying again. He hated it when she cried, but was glad, too. Glad that she trusted him enough to let her guard down and feel sadness around him. "When I'm with you, now that we're together, I feel safe. I like that feeling. I feel safe in your arms, protected from all my bad experiences and memories as well as from anything that could happen in the future, and I just don't want to go back to feeling any other way," Sara continued. She pulled away then, looking him directly in the eyes. "If I'm crowding you, fine, just tell me. Please don't yell at me again. That makes me feel unsafe. I'll back off and give you space, but please don't take my safety away."

"Sara," Grissom had responded, taking her face in his hands, "You just go and cuddle with me any time you want. I'll just have to get used to it, that's all."

"No, I heard what you said, how you felt, and I don't want to make you feel crowded or uncomfortable…"

"Sara," Grissom had replied more firmly, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away the lingering moisture from her tears. "I'll get used to it. Period. What I said before…that was when I didn't understand why. Now that I do…it makes me happy that you feel that way about me. It's important to you to feel safe, so it's important to me that you feel safe."

Sara smiled then, and leaned it to kiss him softly on the lips. "You know, you really aren't that bad when it comes to this relationship stuff and saying the right things. Oh, and Gil…"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too," Sara said, kissing him with all the passion in the world.

Grissom, lying on the couch with a sleeping Sara draped half over him, smiled at the memory. It had started out a terrible confrontation, a big mistake on his part, but had ended well. Very well, in fact. He had gotten used to her constant snuggling, and truth be told, he actually enjoyed it, oftentimes snuggling up to her as much as she did to him. As time passed and their relationship grew, he wondered how he could ever have not wanted this constant closeness and constant touching. It made him feel loved, and to use Sara's word, safe. If Sara ever stopped cuddling with him, he knew, that would be a big, flashy, neon sign that something was seriously wrong with their relationship.

Checking the clock on the cable box, Grissom saw that he really had to get up and leave for the lab. Ideally, he wanted to just remain where he was, holding Sara close and keeping her nightmares at bay. But Sara had asked for some space, and since she'd always respected him when he'd asked for space, he knew he had to respect her wish now. He also knew that Sara was right, that she had to prove to herself that she was okay, or she'd never be able to come back to work, or to trust herself again. He just hated leaving her. If something was to happen, or if she woke up and really needed him, it was still a twenty minute drive from the lab to his townhouse, even without traffic. Maybe too long of a drive.

His townhouse. That phrase gave him pause. His townhouse. Not their townhouse. True, Sara wasn't officially living with him, but they spent every day here. Most of her things were here, except for her furniture and kitchenware. She'd even brought over her favorite bed sheets to add to his. Her mail was sent to his address. He couldn't remember the last time she'd been to her apartment. And yet, he'd never asked her to move in. It didn't bother him in the least that they were basically living together. It had just, kind of, happened. There had been no event, no special dinner or popped question to mark the date and time. Just more and more of her things had slowly been added to his, and all that was really left for her to do was give up her apartment and for them to put the rest of her things somewhere. His townhouse was just too small for two sets of everything. But the fact that there was no day, no occasion to recall, bothered him. He felt, after all these years, all the heartache, all the time she waited for him, there had to be something to mark, some way to make this official and give them something to celebrate. There must be something he could do about that.

He eased out from underneath Sara, laying her back down on the couch and covering her with a heavy blanket. She was always cold when she was sleeping without him. A furnace, she called him; she hardly needed blankets when he was with her. On the rare occasion when he'd come home after her, she'd be sleeping in bed with blankets galore piled on top of her. She absolutely hated being cold while she slept. Grissom hastily scribbled a note telling her he'd gone to work and to call if she needed anything, underlining the word anything. And that he'd call before they all came over for breakfast. Then he kissed her gently on her forehead and quietly left his…their…townhouse.

They had decided to split up into pairs, allowing them to cover more ground that way. Detective Vega and Warrick paid a visit to Lisa and Richard Pashden, while Detective Vartann took Nick with him to re-question Stacy Housler and her son. That left Gloria Pashden's neighbor, Martin Randle, for Grissom and Catherine. Greg desperately tried to tag along with the others, but Grissom informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not yet strong enough for field work; he'd have to wait at least another day before he could even consider going out into the field. Seeing the downtrodden look in the young man's eyes, Grissom had allowed him to remain at the lab and work on finding any overlooked connections between all the witnesses' stories from the two crime scenes. Disappointed, but glad that he wasn't being forced to go home, Greg mock saluted Grissom and marched off to the layout room to go over the written reports with a fine toothed comb.

On the drive out to Martin Randle's home, Catherine kept glancing over at Grissom in the driver's seat. She had a million questions running through her mind, not the first of which was why was he here instead of at home with Sara? Did he think she and the others were doing a good job on this case? And, of course, how long had he and Sara been seeing each other behind closed doors?

"How long?" Catherine finally blurted out, turning to face him more fully.

"How long what?" Grissom asked her to clarify, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. He had a suspicion he knew what she was asking, but wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it right now. If he began to think about Sara, in any capacity, then he'd turn this SUV around and go home. He couldn't think about Sara and what she might be going through right now, not if he wanted to get any work done and solve this case. And not if he wanted to stay in Sara's good graces. He knew she was right; she needed some time alone to get better. But that didn't mean he had to like it. He wanted to be there, all the time, wanted to be there when she woke up from a nightmare, to soothe it away and help her fall back to sleep. He wanted to be there when she finally broke down and told him everything that had happened out on that hotel balcony, so he could hold her and reassure her. He wanted to be there for her when the final verdict came in, and she'd learn whether she still had a career in CSI, and a job here in Las Vegas.

But he couldn't afford to think about Sara now. Not, and stay focused and alert.

"How long have you and Sara been seeing each other?" Catherine asked boldly.

"Catherine," Grissom sighed. Well, there goes not thinking about Sara, he thought. "What does it matter?"

"I want to know how long we've all been fooled," Catherine informed him.

Grissom chewed the bottom of his lip for a moment, debating in his mind what to tell his friend. On the one hand, he wanted to shout from the rooftops how long exactly he and Sara have been together. Just the thought that he could last that long in a relationship, let alone a relationship with the only woman he'd ever loved…it made him very happy. Ecstatic, even. On the other hand, he didn't want to hurt Catherine's feeling by telling her how long the wool had been pulled over her eyes.

"A while," he replied evasively, still concentrating on the road.

"How long, Gil?"

"Sixteen months," he answered quietly.

"Oh…my…god…" Catherine said softly, sitting back in her seat and covering her face with her hands. "Sixteen months? And you didn't say anything? And we had no idea…"

"We had to keep it quiet," Grissom tried to explain. "And then we liked having this secret that only we knew…"

"It's okay, Gil," Catherine said quickly, putting aside any fear he may have had that she would hate him for keeping this a secret. "I understand. I'm just glad that you got your head out of your ass and realized what you had in front of you. And that you were brave enough to go for it. For that matter, how did you go for it? I mean, when did you realize that you and Sara are for each other, that you can't live without her?"

"When did I realize that I loved her?" Grissom asked and Catherine nodded. "That was well over sixteen months ago. I've always…had thoughts…since I met her ten years ago. But definitively knew that I loved her? The Debbie Marlin case. She looked so much like Sara…I had to reassure myself that it wasn't her many times…I knew that if that had ever happed to Sara…I wouldn't be able to handle losing her."

"But that was almost three years ago," Catherine pointed out. "Why wait so long?"

"Fear, mostly," Grissom admitted. "Fear that she'd leave me and that I'd just be a shell of a man afterwards."

"If that girl hasn't left you by now, with all the crap you've put her through, she's never going to leave," Catherine stated bluntly. "When did it happen?"

"After she and I investigated a murder at Desert State Psychiatric Hospital. She was…attacked…by one of the patients. She's was okay," Grissom quickly assured Catherine after her shocked look. "But it…unsettled me. It was the first time I really was faced with the possibility of losing her before I had told her how I felt."

"You were scared," Catherine said placing a hand on his arm in friendly support.

"Very. After we solved the case, I went over to her apartment and told her everything I thought and felt. And she, in return, told me everything. I took her out to dinner and that's that."

Silence enveloped them after that, neither knowing what to say to the other. Catherine smiled sadly and returned her gaze out the windshield, her thoughts swimming around in her head. Grissom had once been afraid to talk about his feelings, she knew. He had closed himself off, out of fear or anger or just inability to voice them, she didn't know and probably never would. She wasn't even sure he knew why. But, over the past year or so, she'd noticed a gradual change in her friend. He opened up more. He spent more time with the other members of the team. He told her about his father, something she was sure that, a few years ago, he never would have even thought to talk about. And there he was, in a possible crime scene, talking about the day his father passed away, without any prompting from her. He had come a long way, Catherine realized, from the barricaded man she had met many years ago, and she wondered how much of this change was on his own, and how much was brought about by Sara.

At first, Catherine had felt put off by Sara. Here was this young woman, coming in and taking charge, almost flaunting her friendship with Grissom, his trust in her, and Catherine had felt her hackles go up. She hadn't liked Sara much at first, that much she knew. Eventually, thought, the girl had grown on her and Catherine had to admit that she was a very good CSI. And she had seen how much Sara cared for their mutual friend, Grissom. And how much Grissom had cared for Sara. Sometimes a little too much, in her opinion. But she had never worried about Sara and how much she cared for Grissom. Helping Sara, protecting Sara, had never even entered Catherine's mind. Sure, she was there for Sara when Hank treated her like crap, but when Grissom did? Too bad. Looking back on it now, Catherine wasn't even sure why that was. Oh, she could tell herself it was because Grissom favored Sara, but really, did he? Grissom had protected her, Catherine, numerous times during their friendship. Like when she implied to a grieving husband that his wife's murderer was the man she was having the affair with, resulting in the man being killed, only to find out the wife's death was an accident, when she fell off a boat. Like when she blew up the lab by leaving an unknown substance on a hot plate before checking to make sure the hot plate was off. Like when she used the lab to discern her paternity. Like when she left her camera unattended and the crime scene photos were stolen. And never once did she have a problem with that, or when he protected any of the guys. Warrick with his gambling, Nick sleeping with a prostitute who ends up dead, or with his inability to keep his mouth shut about some cases. Even giving Greg more than one or two, or three, chances to become a CSI. And then, the one time he protects Sara, the one time, Catherine fights him on it, siding with Ecklie and wanting to fire Sara. Catherine never learned what had set Sara off that day, but she suspected that Grissom knew, and that was why he went to bat for her. Looking back, Catherine felt terrible for the way she'd acted then, knowing now that it was fear that had driven her feelings towards the younger woman; fear that Sara would come between her friendship with Grissom. Glancing over at Grissom again, Catherine saw that Sara hadn't come between their friendship, but had actually enhanced it, making Grissom more open to them all.

"You've changed, you know," Catherine informed her friend. "I like the change, Gil. A few years ago you would never talk about your feelings like this. Sara's good for you. Don't screw it up."

"I don't intend to," Grissom replied, pulling up to Martin Randle's house and parking the SUV. He and Catherine made their way up to the front door and rang the bell. A few moments later, a man in his middle to late sixties, with a beard and a balding head, answered the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked, coughing softly behind a hand.

"I hope so. My name is Gil Grissom and this is my associate, Catherine Willows. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're investigating the death of Alex Hanson, which took place a few blocks from here. Detective Vartann is working with us. Are you Martin Randle?" Grissom asked politely.

"Yes, I am," Martin Randle replied kindly. "Are you here to ask me some more questions?"

"We are, if that's okay with you," Catherine jumped in.

"Of course. Come in." Martin Randle stepped away from the door, allowing Grissom and Catherine to enter, then he shut the door behind them. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you that I haven't already told Detective Vartann. I didn't see anything, and I don't know anything about that poor man's death."

"Actually, we'd like to ask you about your neighbor, Gloria Pashden," Grissom informed him.

Randle shrugged. "Okay. Don't know much about her, either, except that she's quiet. Hires neighborhood kids to take care of her lawn. Likes to bake them cookies and brings them out for them while they're playing. Got two kids of her own, and three grandchildren, who are around a lot. She tends to host this female community meeting once a week or so. Calls it a Woman's Book Club."

"They discuss books?" Grissom asked, following Randle into the living room and taking a seat across from him. Catherine joined Grissom on the couch.

Randle shrugged again. "Don't know. It's women only, so I'm not invited."

"Guess not," Grissom replied, smiling. "I also hear that Mrs. Pashden is the neighborhood gossip."

"Yeah, that's right. If you're unsure about something, about who left who, who's sleeping with who, who's expecting, who's kid got into trouble, stuff like that, you go to Gloria," Randle agreed. He coughed again, hiding behind his mouth. "'Scuse me. Got the beginnings of emphysema. All that cigarette smoking I did when I was a kid and young man. Catching up to me now. So, if you wanted to know something about the people in this neighborhood, go to Gloria."

"What if we want to know about Mrs. Pashden herself?" Grissom asked.

"Talk to her kids, maybe. But there's not much to tell. She's a widow, likes to bake cookies and make lemonade, and entertain the ladies. She considers herself something of a matchmaker, but I'm not too sure her matches have worked out all that well."

"Did you know about Alex Hanson's past record?" Catherine asked, changing the subject when she saw that Martin Randle really didn't know too much about his neighbor. Or, at least, nothing he was willing to talk about. Yet.

"That he was a pedophile? Yeah, I heard that," Randle admitted grudgingly.

"How'd you find that out?"

"Gloria," he informed them. "She told the entire neighborhood, really. All quiet like, going door to door. I'm sure she talked about it at her book groups. That's all she talked about for a while, then suddenly, she seemed to stop."

"When was this?" Grissom asked, feeling they were getting somewhere.

"Oh, about a week ago or so. Why?"

"No particular reason," Grissom said quickly. "How about her book club? When was her last one?"

"Not too sure, really. Last time I recall seeing her lady friends going in was about a week ago, too." Martin Randle stopped talking and stared hard at Grissom and Catherine. "You don't think she had anything to do with that man's death, do you?"

"We don't know anything yet, Mr. Randle. We're still gathering information," Grissom replied with his standard answer. "Do you happen to know anyone in the neighborhood who drives a 2005 Toyota Sequoia?"

"Not someone who lives in the neighborhood, no," Randle replied carefully.

"But you've seen one around?" Catherine pressed.

Randle nodded his head. "Yeah. Parked in Gloria's driveway. Don't know who it belonged to."

"When?"

"About three days ago, I guess. The day before Alex Hanson was killed," Randle admitted. "Why are you so interested in a Toyota? I thought he was killed by someone driving a Ford?"

"The evidence says otherwise," Grissom replied cryptically. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "If you see that Toyota again, please give me a call. It may be the only lead we have in this investigation."

"I'll do that," Randle replied. "Can't say I'm sorry that a pedophile is dead, but I'm a cop, too. I understand about doing the job, even if sometimes it's distasteful. If I see the car, I'll call you."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Randle," Grissom said, standing up. Catherine followed his lead and they left Martin Randle's house and returned to their SUV.

Once inside, Catherine asked, "Do we have enough to bring in Gloria Pashden?"

Grissom shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. Definitely not on what we have alone. Let's head back to the lab and see what Warrick, Nick, and Greg have, first."

"Lisa Pashden claims to go to her mother in law's house once a week for a book club," Warrick began. "Saturday afternoons, from 1pm to 2pm. When I asked her the last book read in the book club she told me it was To Kill a Mockingbird."

"And Stacy Housler told me it was Wuthering Heights," Nick replied. "Did one of them completely forget, or lie?"

"Or maybe both?" Catherine added. "Grissom and I found out that a Toyota Sequoia was parked outside of Gloria Pashden's house the day before Alex Hanson was killed. And that Gloria Pashden had informed the entire neighborhood that Alex Hanson was a convicted sex offender. Then suddenly stopped talking about it after her last book club, about a week ago."

"The time of the last book club jives with what Lisa Pashden told me," Warrick agreed.

"Stacy Houlser told me she was last there six days ago for book club, Saturday afternoon, from one to two. That's about a week," Nick added.

"How about you, Greg? Find anything?" Grissom asked.

"Maybe," Greg replied. "Both victims were registered with the State of Nevada. It's easy to find the registry on the internet, and to find their names. But I can't imagine anyone just surfing the sex offenders website for fun. Something must have tipped them off to look. Once you look, the names are right there along with addresses. Now, something you might not know…the state keeps track of all the IP addresses that access the registry's web pages."

"IP addresses? Web pages? Sounds more like Sara's forte, or Archie's," Grissom said, biting his lower lip. "What does that mean in English, Greg?"

"It means that the Nevada government can keep track of who reads the sex offenders' registry," Greg replies simply.

"Can we get a list of those names?" Grissom asked excitedly, catching on.

"Already done. I called Vartann and we had more than enough for a warrant for the list of names. He's bringing it over right now," Greg said proudly.

"Good work, Greg," Grissom praised. "Sara'd be proud. And impressed that you thought to go that route."

"Well," Greg said uncomfortably, his proud smile giving way to a frown and furrowed brow. "I didn't exactly do that on my own…"

"Greg…" Grissom said warningly.

"I called Sara to ask for help," Greg spat out quickly. "I wasn't sure where to go…there was nothing in those reports you gave me, so I called her and asked what I should do next, if there was something I could do. She told me about how some states, Nevada included, track who reads the on-line sex offender registry. Then she told me to remind you guys about breakfast and to tell Grissom to bring home some orange juice, and then she hung up."

"How would she know that, about the sex offender registry keeping track of its on-line visitors? I didn't even know that!" Catherine exclaimed first.

"How does she know half of what she knows? She pays attention and researches everything," Grissom replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

"And remembers everything," Nick partly grumbled. "She can recite court cases at the drop of a hat, even ones from other states from before we were all born! I wish I could do that. And journal articles."

"That's probably how she knew. It came up in a court case or a journal and she filed the information away for future use," Catherine surmised.

"She didn't exactly tell me what to do, just gave me some information I was missing and let me go. She's a great teacher," Greg added.

Before anyone could comment on Greg's statement, Detective Vartann entered the conference room holding the prized list of names in his right hand. "Anyone care to guess who's on this list that's probative to our investigation?"

"Gloria Pashden?" they all replied at once.

"Yes, she is," Vartann replied, not even shocked that they knew. "She accessed the website, as well and the individual pages on Alex Hanson and Charles Faithword, from 1:20pm to 1:37pm on Saturday afternoon. Six days ago. She knew who they were and where they lived." He smiled at the CSI team. "Want me to grab a warrant and bring her in?"

"Yes, we did it. We all did it. We did it to protect our children!" Gloria Pashden cried proudly, sitting across from Grissom, Catherine, and Detective Vartann. "And you would too, for your children!"

"Mrs. Pashden…" Grissom tried to interrupt, but she kept talking.

"A girlfriend of mine moved to Phoenix almost two weeks ago. Moved in with her daughter and son in law to help them take care of their son. See, he had been molested by their new next-door neighbor. Turns out the slime was a sex offender set free from prison! Gloria, she told me, Addy did, check into your neighborhood, for the sake of your grandchildren. Her grandson, Billy, was only six years old. Six! That sick bastard! She told me about how to find the information out on the internet, so I bought a computer and hand my grandson, Trevor, come hook it up. He's so good with computers, that kid. I looked up any child molesters living near my grandchildren and found two. Two! Can you believe it! And no one told us!"

"Mrs. Pashden," Grissom interjected, this time getting her to quiet down. "Nevada law doesn't require the government to inform neighborhoods when a convicted sex offender moves in. However, it does require them to register with the state, and anyone can access that information."

"We should have been told! For the sake of our children!" she cried indignantly. She turned to Catherine. "I can tell this man doesn't have any children, but do you?"

"I have a daughter, yes," Catherine replied smoothly. "She's almost fifteen."

"Wouldn't you want to know? Wouldn't you have done the same thing I did?" Gloria asked, trying to play up Catherine's motherly side.

Catherine sat there like a deer caught in the headlights. She had no idea how to answer the woman without being hypocritical. On the one hand, Gloria Pashden broke the law, the law Catherine had sworn to uphold. On the other hand, she understood why Mrs. Pashden had broken it, and Catherine couldn't say for sure that she wouldn't have done something as well, were Lindsey threatened.

Grissom saved Catherine her indecision by replying, "What Ms. Willows would or wouldn't have done is besides the point here. What you did, that is what's to be questioned. I would like to know who drove that SUV."

"That I am not going to tell you," Gloria Pashden clammed up.

"You don't need to," Detective Vega said, coming into the interrogation room with a file folder. He opened it and began to read. "A 2005 Toyota Sequoia, navy blue. That's the type of SUV that hit and killed Alex Hanson and Charles Faithword. And, that happens to be the type of SUV your other son, Cal Pashden, owns. He lives in Reno, doesn't he?"

Gloria Pashden's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock, and then fear. "No, oh no! What are you going to do with my baby?"

"Here's how it's going to work, Mrs. Pashden. You give us the names of all the women involved in your so-called book club who knew about this conspiracy and we'll make sure your son Cal only gets life in prison. No death penalty," Vega said. "And don't try to tell us no one else knew. We have enough on both your daughter and daughter in law to get them convicted for conspiracy."

"All right," Gloria Pashden replied, defeated. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

After Gloria Pashden had been led away, Grissom turned to Vega and asked, "How'd you know to look for another son?"

Vega smiled. "Greg, actually. That list of people who accessed the Nevada sex offender registry? It had another Pashden on it, a Cal Pashden from Reno, Nevada. Made a few calls and found out he's Gloria Pashden's youngest child. Been in jail a few times for aggravated assault, stealing a car, small stuff. Thought that he might be the kind of person she'd call 'to take care of her problem'. The SUV matched up…the rest she just gave us."

"Good work, to both of you," Grissom replied, standing up and leaving the interrogation room. "Cath, we better gather the team and leave, or we'll be late for Sara's breakfast."

"You are so whipped," Catherine replied jokingly, as she followed her friend out of the interrogation room and back to the lab.

Grissom watched from across the living room as Sara's eyes began fluttering shut and she slowly leaned into Greg sitting next to her on the couch. She was so tired, not just from what had happened recently, but also from the emotional strain telling her story had been to the others. He knew how fearful she had been to finally say something to them. She had been afraid they wouldn't believe her, or reject her, or tell her it was all her fault, or a number of things he couldn't even think about. But they hadn't, and now that it was over, Sara was drained and ready to drift off. Grissom was about to say something when he watched as Greg, almost without thinking, moved his arm around Sara's shoulders and guided her down to him. He didn't look at her while he did this, didn't stop his conversation with Nick about the latest PlayStation game, just gently maneuvered her head down onto his lap so she could sleep. He continued to watch as Nick stood up from the chair he was sitting in and gently placed Sara's feet up on the couch, then covered her with a blanket. Grissom knew then, that no matter what happened to him, or between he and Sara, the others would always look out for her. He left the living room and made his way over to the kitchen area to eavesdrop on Catherine, Warrick, Brass, and Doc Robbins and their hushed conversation.

"I feel like such a fool, because all the signs were there, but I just ignored them," Catherine was saying. "I know what to look for, trained for it, for investigations, but I completely ignored her."

"Don't feel bad, Cath. I ignored them, too," Warrick commiserated.

"I saw something," Brass added. "And I tried to talk to her about it, a few years ago, but she told me she was fine and that there wasn't a problem. I didn't push, but now I wish I had. Maybe this might not have happened if I had."

"I knew something," Doc Robbins announced. "Well, not knew exactly," he elaborated at their quizzical looks. "More like suspected. When we had that case where the foster child had been starved to death and hidden in the garbage, remember? Just by her statements and her…looks…I figured she'd had some experience with foster care. I just didn't know what kind, until now. I'm just surprised she didn't invite David to this thing. They're so close."

"David already knows," Grissom replied, jumping into their conversation. "She told him yesterday, when she was hiding out in the morgue after being questioned. She said that his reaction to her story was what made her decide to tell all of you. She trusted him and he didn't disappoint, so she trusted in you not to disappoint as well."

"It'll be hard," Warrick commented, "Trying not too be overprotective when we get a case that involves domestic abuse."

Grissom indicated that they should turn their eyes to the scene on the couch. Sara was fast asleep, head in Greg's lap, while his hand brushed through her hair. Nick was sitting on the floor now, near her feet, holding one of her hands. The television was on, and both men were staring at it, but it was obvious that their thoughts were with the brunette in their care. "I think, to get in close enough to be protective of her, you'd have to beat those two away with a stick."

Then the phone rang, and Grissom grabbed it before it woke Sara up. "Hello?" he said softly. "Yes, but she's asleep. This is Gil Grissom. Is there something I can help you with?" A long pause, then "I see. Thank you." He hung up.

"Gil?" Catherine questioned.

"That was Sofia. The shooting board returned their verdict."

"And?" Brass pushed.

Grissom just smiled.


End file.
